Fitting Together
by savingcas
Summary: Buying the table at IKEA may have been a mistake, but at least Dean knows making the move was definitely worth it.
1. Chapter 1

"It won't fit. I do not understand."

Dean had never seen Castiel looking so dejected. The other man was seated cross-legged on the floor, metal brackets and wooden pieces strewn about with Cas as the squinty-eyed centerpiece. He was twisting a bracket by hand and angling what looked to be two legs together which even from where Dean was standing at the counter, leaned over an instruction manual, he could tell most definitely were not designed to fit together.

He said as much to Cas and got a sharp flick of blue eyes in response, a steely look that indicated quite clearly it was in Dean's best interest to keep his opinions to himself.

"Alright then." Cas dropped the section of the kitchen table he had been making a valiant, albeit useless, effort on. "You can come over and work on this table, and I will pretend to read the instructions." The pieces fell to the floor with a hallow clatter and Cas gave what was supposed to be step four part B a look of malice that Dean never wanted directed his way.

Still, Dean couldn't help himself, mouth moving with a mind of its own as it was apt to do. "You aren't even working with the correct parts." He stepped closer to survey the mess of pieces lying around, orbiting like meteoroids around Cas. They were likely collide and cause a cosmic explosion Dean judged, if the way Cas was glowering gave any indication.

Cas lifted the pieces he had been working with and studied them, frown set deep and brow creased. For a moment Dean thought maybe he was going to throw them his way. "I am working with the pieces you dictated to be correct, Dean." He motioned to the small labeling stickers. "Parts E, G, and F, see? You must be misreading the directions."

Dean gave an indignant huff and all but pelted the flimsy IKEA manual at Cas, who merely ducked his head, the manual fluttering through the air and landing against the baseboard. His eyes grew darker still, storm clouds eclipsing the usual calm sky blue of his irises. If Dean had not known Cas so well, had he not become accustomed to reading the subtle nuances of his expression, each quirk of his mouth and shift of a brow, he might have missed the change that washed over his features. Dean saw the shift though, a look that told him Castiel was not amused in the least. Dean was fixed with a stare that made him squirm, just slightly.

This only made him more indignant.

"You try understanding the directions!" Dean crossed his arms, ready to stand his ground. There was a lot of shit Cas could blame him for, but he wasn't about to take the fall for this one. "We're just as likely to construct the Death Star following them."

This seemed to deter the stare down Cas had been building up to, head cocked to the right in an unconscious gesture of confusion, and damn him for making Dean forget, momentarily, that they were supposed to be arguing.

"Wait, stop." Dean approached Cas where he had moved to kneel next to the fallen manual, smoothing the pages gently as if some tender loving care was all it needed to reveal the secrets of constructing their table.

"There are only thirteen steps..." Cas was muttering as he flipped through.

"_Wait_," Dean said again and grabbed the manual from his hands, kneeling down to eye level next to Cas. "You've never seen Star Wars? How did I ever agree to move in with you?"

The impassive look on Cas' face gave away none of the irritation Dean had learned to sense over the years, rising from the depths of his eyes, though his voice remained cool when he replied, "I believe you breached the subject of a shared living situation after Sam walked in early to your house one day from work and found that we were utilizing the love seat in a rather unconventional manner, despite my arguments on the implications of the word _love seat_."

"We agreed to not talk about that!" Dean felt his face heat up. It's not that he had ever been ashamed of his sexual endeavors, but it was one thing to tease Sammy and another to be caught in a more than compromising position, on their shared furniture, no less.

Cas gave an indifferent shrug and settled against the wall. "If you find my science fiction film repertoire lacking I can go back to living with Gabriel."

A silence settled around them, a moment of studying each other, passing in increasing tension. Dean did not flinch under the scrutiny of Cas' gaze, but there was a fleeting moment where their entire relationship flashed before his eyes.

Cas must have noticed something because Dean was brought back to reality by a hand taking his own, long fingers stroking over his knuckles. The corners of Cas' lips were turned up, Dean noticed, and whatever doubt and worry had settled within his chest faded easily into the background.

Dean grinned back, stupidly large.

"This table is a piece of shit," Cas muttered, and Dean barked out a laugh. Cas took the manual from his hands and slid it easily across the wood floor, out of sight. Dean tugged Cas closer until he settled at his side, the two of them sitting on their kitchen floor surrounded by the pieces of their failed home furnishing.

"I don't even know why we decided IKEA was a good idea." Dean nudged a table leg with his foot.

Cas hummed and leaned in with his shoulder, head coming to rest in the crook of Dean's neck. When he spoke Dean could feel the rumble of Cas' voice against his pulse, "It may have been a decision based more upon your insistence of IKEA's culinary merits where Swedish meatballs are concerned, rather than their constructional abilities of modern home furnishings or competency in technical writing."

"Their meatball are awesome," Dean insisted, though his voice remained light. "Yeah, their furniture is _shit _though."

Cas looked up then with so much warmth shining in his eyes that Dean was slightly taken aback. Cas could have that effect sometimes, the uninhibited manner he adopted around Dean reminding him of how fortunate he had been to not only find Cas, but manage to keep him. Sometimes he's still not sure how he got here.

Still, at times like these, when Dean caught Cas watching him so intently, unflinching, it made him—and Dean would never tell Sam this—somewhat bashful. He ran a hand through his hair and gave a small laugh. "What?"

"I enjoy when we can hate things together, Dean," Cas stated, matter-of-fact. For that, Dean could not help but lean in and meld their lips together.

"Cas," he cupped the other's chin with his hand, "don't ever change." He pressed a final kiss to the corner of Cas' mouth before standing and hauling Cas up off the floor with him.

"Not even my narrow study of popular 20th century science fiction sagas?"

Dean wrapped an arm around Cas to rest his hand on his hip. "Oh don't you worry, we are going to have a long weekend of education on George Lucas' filmography."

Cas just nodded, shuffling into the kitchen as Dean followed behind. "You know I don't care what we do, being with you is what I care about."

If Dean didn't know better he would say Cas didn't understand the significance of those words and how important they were for Dean to hear. But Cas did know, without Dean having to say a thing, and it was this thought that made Dean arrive at the realization that living with Cas was going to work out just fine.

Later that night they sat opposite to each other on the love seat; the one Sam had all but thrown at them when Dean moved out, with some comment pertaining to the traumatizing history associated with the upholstery. Dean looked around their near barren living room, surveying the remnants of the table they had not bothered to pick up.

"We should return the table tomorrow."

Cas shifted his concentration from the book in his hands, eyes peering up over the top of the pages. "You just want more Swedish meatballs." It wasn't a question and Dean did not even try to deny it. Cas always did have the ability to see right through him.

"Of course." Dean moved forward now to the end where Cas had his knees drawn up, pushed his legs down slowly and climbed over to straddle him. His knees rested against Cas' hips. "But I also don't want to wake up in the middle of the night and find you out here fiddling with the son of a bitch. Failure is not something you let go lightly, I know, and you are too determined for your own good. That sorry excuse for a table is a lost cause though so the sooner it gets returned the better."

Cas merely rolled his eyes and set his book face down on the floor, hands coming to rest at Dean's hips. "You just want more Swedish meatballs," he reiterated flatly. But when a small smile broke upon Cas' expression Dean took it as a victory.

"We can just eat on the floor for awhile until we find another table," Dean went on, squirming closer when Cas ran his hands down his back.

"Hmm," Cas agreed and burrowed into Dean's neck, mouth marking a wet trail from his shoulder and up to the shell of his ear. "I would like to find another table soon, though I have slightly more creative purposes in mind other than eating to use it for."

"Oh?" Dean's voice sounded more breathless than he meant it to, but he couldn't be bothered to care when Cas was arching closer, pressing for more.

"Yes," said Cas, voice still steady in a way that had Dean marginally embarrassed at his own absence of composure. "Primarily I would like to bend you over the surface, though this one was of optimum height for the best angle."

"Christ!" Dean gasped out and leaned back to wonder at Cas' blunt honesty. Cas however was eyeing the table pieces at the far end of the room with a look of actual regret over the fact that they could not make the arrangement between them work. He looked to be sincerely sorry for that. Cas then turned back to Dean with the utmost seriousness, hands trailing up and down his sides calmly. "Sam's kitchen table is, as I recall, of a decent height."

Dean's eyes widened still. Despite all of Cas' outward reserve Dean found out through the years he could be a devious son of a bitch when he felt up to it. And oh, how Dean loved it when he felt up to it.

"Well, I think a visit to Sammy might be in order." Dean shook his head and laughed before pulling Cas in, kissing him fully and smiling into his lips. "You keep thinking like that, Cas, and we won't ever need to go furniture shopping again."

Thanks for reading, feedback always appreciated ^^


	2. Chapter 2

"Let me see if I understand."

Sam understood just fine, Dean knew.

He could tell by the way his brother had his hands folded, fingers clasped in a white knuckle embrace. He could tell by the way Sam was hunched over, his giant Sasquatch form looming from where he sat on the couch opposite to Dean. But mostly, Dean could tell Sam understood just fine by the magnificent bitch face he had pinched his features into, all narrowed eyes and a thin line for a mouth.

Dean had conveniently situated himself in the rocking chair instead, as far away from the scrutinizing glare Sam was directing straight towards him.

Sam, the drama queen that he was, drew in in a long breath, exhaling just as slowly. He remained silent, tense in his seat, the vein beneath his left temple visible and throbbing. When Sam didn't continue Dean chanced eye contact which, as it turned out, was the wrong move on his part. It must have been the cue Sam had been waiting for to begin his chastising, and now it seemed Dean had given him the green light.

"You're telling me that you came to visit, ate dinner with me, and then proceeded to fornicate on top of my kitchen table."

Sam's voice was level, quiet even. With an expression that packed so much hostility one did not need the assistance of a raised voice. His lips were pursed, eyes staring down his nose and at the center sat Dean, surrounded by the firestorm and armed only with flimsy excuses as a shield.

But Sam wasn't just going to let this one slide with a few smart ass remarks, not this time. There was no laughing off returning from a phone call and stumbling upon your brother with his boyfriend spread out on your beautiful Victorian style mahogany kitchen table like a Thanksgiving day feast, where just not even an hour ago you had enjoyed an excellent bowl of homemade fettuccine. Dean considered throwing out some remark that Cas was too delicious _not_ to be thrown across the table for a thorough ravishing, but he didn't think his humor would be appreciated at this point, and knowing Sam he would just interpret that as some sort of slight against his cooking.

Instead Dean tried calm rationality, for a change.

"I think you are overreacting here Sam."

For feigned nonchalance Dean thought he was faring pretty well. He leaned back, far enough that he could crane his neck and catch a glimpse of Cas shuffling back and forth beyond the archway that led into the kitchen, the sound of clanking dishes and running water drifting out to mask over the brothers' muted voices.

Sam shifted forward still, shins knocking into the coffee table, the only barrier protecting Dean from a full on lunge attack should Sam choose this course of action. Even then, Dean supposed, Sam's arms were probably long enough to reach his neck and strangle him without getting up at all.

"Alright." Dean grimaced, coming to the conclusion that there was no way around a straight, God's honest apology. "I know what we did was uncool-"

That's when Sam actually snapped. "Uncool? No, Dean, _no_, uncool is not returning the frying pan I lent you three weeks ago, having sex on my kitchen table is somewhere in the realm of what the hell were you thinking?! I was going to make pancakes tomorrow morning Dean, but I won't even be able to enjoy my pancakes now, not with the images burned into my retinas and whatever..._stains _were left on my table."

"Oh stop being a little bitch Sammy." Dean went to give his brother a playful slap on the knee but Sam's hands swatted at him, scowl deepening and making him look rather like a caveman. A very angry caveman out to club him to death.

And how was that fair, Dean thought. If anyone was to blame it was Cas, and where was he? Scrubbing pots and pans, well beyond the strike zone of Sam's fury. _Son of a bitch_. More than that though, Cas had planed everything so that it would be exactly so; make Dean out to be the villain, the _deviant_, while Cas himself merely appeared the innocent bystander swept into the mess, not to be faulted for the fact that he just happened to be there when Dean was fucking him. It didn't help that Cas had somehow perfected (Dean was not sure how or when) the face of sheer ignorance, a look embodying that of a lost puppy.

Dean had known exactly what Cas had been doing, seen the way he was set up as the scapegoat, but when Cas had been rubbing hard against his thigh as soon as Sam had gone upstairs to take a call, all needy panting hot into his ear, a broken record of "_Dean, Dean, I need you_", well, _fuck caution_ is what Dean had thought, right before he had shoved Cas hard against the table.

And sure, maybe they had joked about this before, but it had never been a serious consideration for Dean, fucking on Sam's kitchen table and having Cas' recreate a Jackson Pollock with his come.

Apparently it had been a serious consideration for Cas.

Dean didn't see how it was fair for him to be the sole recipient of Sam's almighty rage, but nor did he know how to tell Sam to take it up with Cas, as it was _Cas_ that took the initiative to pull Dean's jeans and boxers down in one swift move, proceeding to drop to his knees and take Dean's cock between his lips to get him hard.

After that how was Dean supposed to maintain any sort of restraint, even if there was that nagging thought at the back of his head reminding him that Sammy was going to really bitch at him if he found out what they were up to. After that, could Sam really blame Dean for pulling Cas up roughly as he managed to kick his jeans from around one foot, attaching himself to the skin of the other man's neck, all biting teeth and sucking, pulse throbbing beneath his mouth.

That had been the point of no return, Dean supposed. There was nothing left to hold his fingers back from fumbling with the buttons of Cas' shirt, letting it hang loose from his shoulders while his mouth traced a path down, leaving wet, bruising marks from his neck to the jut of Cas' hip.

He had reached down then to tug at Cas' pants and he could feel fingers running through his hair, trying to grip and settling for scratching nails down his neck. Cas was breathing heavy when Dean pushed the fabric from his hips only to find he wasn't wearing anything beyond the worn pair of jeans. When he looked back to Cas' face he swore the expression Cas was wearing could pass for a smirk.

"Fuck, Cas," Dean had muttered then, dropping down and pressing a kiss to his thigh while avoiding Cas' erection, which was half hard and leaking precome. Cas had shut his eyes tight, teeth gnawing at the corner of his lip, but when Dean shot out his tongue to lick a long line across the underside of his cock a whimper broke through Cas' teeth, escalating to a full on throaty moan when Dean licked around the head before swallowing him down whole.

Cas' hands shot back, gripping the edge of the table as he arched forward, back bending in search for more. "Dean..." Cas' voice was rough, broken around the edges and his eyes opened, gazing down through dark lashes.

Dean sucked quickly, skillful tongue flattening against the vein and dragging along the sensitive underside. Cas was letting out a string of small whimpers, hips continuing to press forward but Dean pulled off suddenly, earning a frustrated groan.

"You really get off on this, don't you Cas." Dean attached to his hip, nipping and sucking a bruise into the soft skin there around the sharp bone. Cas squirmed and Dean could hear nails scraping at the underside of the table where Cas was gripping. "You like that we could get caught, that Sam might come back from his phone call and find us like this. Maybe he'll walk in on me opening you up, stretching you, or maybe when I have you pinned across the table. Hmm, would you enjoy that?"

Dean wasn't sure where his sudden urge to talk so much came from but a sharp gasp from somewhere up above caused him to grin.

Cas turned urgent, hands shooting out to grip at Dean's arms, trying to haul him up. "Dean _come on_." He shook his pants off from his feet, motioning to them. "Lube."

Dean reached over to feel through the back pocket of Cas' jeans, finding the small packet. He smiled and shook his head. "How long have you had this planned Cas? How long have you been thinking about it?" He tore it open and wet his fingers.

"Before we bought that stupid table from IKEA," Cas bit out sharply, eyes screwing shut again as Dean took his cock in hand, moving in slow teasing strokes. The motion at the base to watch Cas twitch in his grasp, face thoroughly flushed.

"Turn around."

Cas complied instantly, legs parted and forearms settling on the surface of the table as he twisted his head around to gaze back at Dean.

"Now," Dean murmured, standing and leaning in close to Cas' ear, "I want you to be quiet. Don't get me wrong, I love hearing you, especially when you come, but somewhere upstairs Sam is on the phone, and we wouldn't want to disrupt his call, right?"

Cas gave a weak nod, drawing the corner of his lip between his teeth to bite again, and Dean thought it shouldn't be that hot, being exposed in his brother's kitchen with Cas just waiting to be taken hard over a table. With Cas staring back at Dean with blue eyes eclipsed by black and red cheeks though, looking like he was ready and willing to take whatever Dean was about to give, well...Dean thought it was all worth the risk of Sammy finding out they had defiled his kitchen table.

"Dean..." Cas whimpered again and Dean whispered into the warmth of his neck, "Yeah, Cas," before slipping a finger past his entrance without warning.

Cas drew in a sharp breath before burying his face into the crook of his elbow, stifling the moan that slipped out when Dean bent his finger, moving in quick little thrusts. Dean wasted little time adding a second, feeling the muscles clench with each drag of his fingers, scissoring and twisting as Dean watched Cas try to remain still beneath him. The heat around his fingers made his dick twitch and he moved faster, a rush of excitement kicking in with the mantra of _hurry hurry hurry_ running through his head.

Cas seemed to have the same idea as he bit out, "Hurry up Dean," while pushing back against the fingers moving within him, his breathing muffled with having face pressed into his arm.

It had been too fast, Dean thought, Cas wasn't stretched enough, but Cas was the one grinding against his fingers with a litany on "_come on Dean, come on_" falling from his lips, voice too loud in the empty kitchen.

Dean thrust his fingers in once more, hard enough to run over Cas' prostate and cause Cas to jerk forward with a loud exclamation of "_fuck_!" which seemed to echo off the tiled counters.

"Shh baby," Dean whispered softly into Cas' ear as his fingers slipped out, moving to slick the remaining lube over his cock. He reached underneath Cas' left knee and hauled it onto the table, leaving him perfectly spread out for Dean's taking. He took a split second to admire the sight of Cas waiting beneath him, waiting to be fucked over his brother's table, pale skin contrasted beautifully against the dark mahogany wood.

Dean could get used to this table.

Cas reached across the surface with the arm he wasn't using to bury his face in, past the salt and pepper shakers, the napkin holder, and empty pasta bowls. He gripped at the other end, fingers barely able to curl beneath the edge of the table to hold on tight.

"Remember," Dean muttered into the hair at the base of Cas' neck while he took himself in hand, teasing the head of his dick against Cas' hole, precome and lube mixing as he circled the tight rim. "You have to be quiet." And with that he pressed forward, breaching Cas' body in one quick motion, Cas letting out a stifled yell as Dean sank into him all at once.

He remained like that, buried to the hilt with Cas almost shaking around him, tight and constricting as he brushed his fingers over Cas' sides. The muscles of Cas' forearms were straining and the leg still planted on the ground shook slightly. Dean worried for a moment.

"You good Cas?" his voice rasped and he realized Cas was biting down on his wrist, breathing harshly through his nose. "Cas?"

The man beneath him nodded, but Cas didn't move away from his wrist when he spoke. Dean heard the strained "_move_" punctuated by the insistent rocking of Cas' hips, grinding back onto Dean's cock, and that was enough to persuade Dean to pull back, only slightly before snapping his hips to slide back into the wonderful heat. He set a steady rhythm, thrusting into Cas with one hand on his hip and the other helping to keep Cas' leg up atop the table.

Dean had never loved a table more than in that moment. It was the perfect height for Cas, just tall enough for the right angle that set Cas to gasping at each inward motion, voice sounding oddly strangled with Cas' wrist shoved in his mouth. They were rocking together steadily and Dean's own sharp gasps joined Cas'. Cas was tight, so deliciously tight around him and Cas beneath him had turned in to a quivering mess.

He pushed against the back of Cas' knee harder, sliding him further up the table and on the next thrust of Dean's hips the hand that Cas had been using to hold back his moans shot out and across the table, knocking over the salt and scrambling to grip to the edge, the deep moans falling from his lips uninhibited now.

Dean was breathing heavily, all thoughts of keeping quiet entirely lost in the heat of Cas around him and in the way Cas would buck back against him. He was slipping in faster, rougher, slamming into Cas who in turn slammed against the table, the wooden legs beginning to groan in protest as Cas countered with his own groans of pleasure, growing louder and louder as his voice mixed with Dean's own.

The salt shaker was inching forward in time with Dean's thrusts, leaving behind a mess of tiny grains in its wake. Through the haze of pleasure coiling low in Dean's stomach he realized, vaguely, that the dishes left on the table were clanking loud over breathy gasps, and there was absolutely no way Sam could not hear the racket they were making.

Dean could not care less at that point though because Cas whimpered out, "_Dean, please, please..._" as his hands clutched the other end of the table as if his life depended upon it.

He reached a hand beneath them, finding Cas hard and straining against his stomach. When Dean pumped his hand once along Cas' length, thumb coming up to circle around the head of his cock Cas seized up, arching off the table momentarily before he collapsed back down, hitting too hard with his forehead against the wood as he contracted around Dean, gasping against the semi-gloss surface and spilling across Dean's hand and along his own stomach.

With Cas clenched around him Dean thrust in deep one more time, pressed against the sweat of Castiel's back and biting the skin of his shoulder as he came in a last ditch effort to keep his voice down. His eyes closed as he pulsed within Cas, groaning around his shoulder and resisting the urge to just collapse on top of the other man as they both shuddered through the aftereffects.

"Shit!"

Sam's voice cut through the fog of bliss like an ax and several things happened at once; Sam backpedaled into the side of the wall in his attempt to retreat as he covered his face with this hands, Dean jolted upright, peeling away from Cas and slipping out suddenly, and Cas let out a small whimper, finally releasing his grip on the table in favor of slipping to the floor, seemingly boneless.

"Oh my god what the hell Dean?!_" _

Sam had turned around to face the wall, though his hands were still covering his eyes. In that moment all Dean could register was the fact that he had been interrupted from his perfectly sated state of post-orgasm euphoria, and Sam had been the cause.

"What the hell Sam?!"

"Dean, living room, _now,_" Sam ground out and then made a quick exit without sparing a second glance back at the scene.

Cas was still slumped on the ground as his breathing returned to normal, shirt still barely hanging on at his shoulders. Dean held out a hand and Cas took the offer to haul himself back to his feet, yet he didn't let go of Dean, but rather leaned in for support.

Cas' voice was surprisingly even for someone who looked like they could crumple right back down to the floor. "I think this experience has changed my perspective on the value of a well crafted kitchen table."

That's when Dean looked up at Cas in earnest and could not help but widen his eyes at what he saw. "Shit!" He laughed on impulse, in spite of everything, and reached out to wipe away the sweaty strands of hair sicking to Cas' forehead.

"What?" Cas' brows drew inwards. When Dean couldn't bring himself to answer he thought he could see a flash of panic behind Cas' eyes. Cas ran his hands over his face. "What Dean, _what_?"

"You uh..." Dean motioned to his forehead, "the table left you a little parting gift."

Cas brushed over the angry red mark marring the top of his forehead, wincing and cursing under his breath. The first layer of skin seemed to have rubbed away. Dean considered it a success as far as table sex went.

They went about getting redressed (Cas pants having been kicked across the floor somewhere along the way), making sure they were at least semi presentable, though it wasn't as if they were going to be keeping up any illusions now that they'd been found out. Once they'd pulled themselves together Dean was drawn back to the table, Cas following beside him, and at least the bastard had the grace to look embarrassed, if only for a second or two.

"I'll clean up in here and do the dishes. You should go talk to your brother and assure him no permanent damage has been done to his table." Cas grabbed a few napkins and began to wipe up the come that was streaked across the edge of the beautiful mahogany wood. He sighed and added a bit wistfully, "I do like this table a great deal."

If Dean could have even formed a coherent sentence in that moment he probably would have tried to argue with Cas and force _him_ to go out and talk with Sam, but even so, Dean figured Cas would twist the situation somehow to come out as the innocent party in their little escapade. Dean both cursed Castiel's cunning and loved him for it.

The thought occurred to Dean that he must actually love Cas a great deal if he was about to go out and talk with his brother about fucking on his table.

In the end, after a great deal of listening to Sam lecture him on the codes of conduct where his home furnishings were concerned and profuse apologies on Dean's end (plus the promise to treat Sam to dinner at his favorite vegetarian restaurant in town) he got off with only one last glare that could have caused third degree burns, but Dean took it all in stride, and when Sam called him a jerk as he left with Cas that evening he just smirked and shouted '_bitch!'_ over his shoulder.

That Christmas Sam found himself the proud new owner of an antique French oak table, while in turn Dean and Cas acquired a used (yet beautiful nonetheless) Victorian style semi-gloss mahogany dining room set.

Thanks for reading, feedback always appreciated!


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